


Death Walks into a Bar

by 0neType



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reapertale, Awkwardness, Crushes, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: Death and an alcoholic walk into a bar. The bartender gives the alcoholic a strange look and says, “When you said you were looking forward to ‘a little death’, this wasn’t quite what I thought you had in mind.”





	Death Walks into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SesuRescue (Kigachan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kigachan/gifts).



The building as Papyrus approaches is a colossal, towering thing. Befitting of a temple to the Gods, but not an image that he spends much time adulating as he swishes past the solid, marble doors. His robes swirl like shadows around him, ever-present reminders of the fluidity of death heedless of the warmth blooming out from within the temple that’s seeks to encompass him entirely.

The scene changes immediately upon his entrance.

He knows, somewhere at the heart of his magic-dense being, that the room around him is still a part of the temple. That these hardwood floors and brown, leather booths are a vision crafted from his own mind and presented to him as an offering, layered over marble and gold. But even for a God as Great as he is, Papyrus has always preferred the domain molded from his thoughts over the reality that the Gods can choose to perceive.

He takes another step forward and his robes blaze like black fire, erupting around him in an inferno that bears no heat. When the flames recede, the black of his robes fits tight to his bones and his gleaming, silver chest-plate is replaced with the soft, white fabric of a homemade costume, hand-stitching across the breast. His bare hands and feet are also changed, covered by a swathe of bright red, flashy and appealing. He flexes the gloves as if to test them, even though by now this ensemble is as familiar to him as his dark robes and battle gear. The only part of his outfit that remains mostly the same is his red cape—it continues to rest around his shoulders, more a long scarf now than anything else, but still a reassurance, firm and grounding.

Everything he’s wearing is heavy with the familiar scent of bones and old magic and the kind of warmth that speaks of years of love and family. It makes something catch and stick in his unconjured throat; nostalgia for a life he’s never lived. Papyrus clears it swiftly as he speaks, voice booming and exuberant, “Grillby! Is my brother around?”

He doesn’t actually need to ask. If Sans were here, Papyrus would be able to feel it in the air. The presence of Death is unmistakeable—unless, of course, you were as Great at blending in as he himself was.

Nevertheless, Papyrus sweeps a quick look around the room, taking in the patrons of the bar that’s been created around him. Mostly there are humans, drunk and oblivious to the grand entrance he’s made, Grillby’s magic shielding them from things they would be loathe to comprehend. There are a few lesser Gods here as well, and they give Papyrus a respectful nod before returning to their drinks. Papyrus tells himself that it’s definitely because they’ve heard of his excellent work and not at all because they’re afraid ignoring his presence might get back to his brother.

Finally, his gaze rests at the God of the Hearth who is currently wiping down a glass at the bar.

If Papyrus squints and tilts his head just the slightest, he can make out the shifting robes the other God has on, long and flowing. If he allows his mind to relax however, Grillby’s image snaps back into one of a regular bartender, pressed white shirt on underneath a solid, black vest. In addition to the usual, though he can’t actually see them clearly from here, Papyrus also catches the glint of golden cufflinks at his wrists. It makes his soul swell with ridiculous giddiness. He’d given those as a gift to Grillby the last time he’d been here; gratitude for the long nights and whispered advice. Knowing that the God had added it to his regular disguise for this particular instance of a gathering place warms him in a way no ordinary fire could.

“Papyrus,” Grillby nods, and Papyrus allows himself to imagine that the way the flames crackle around his form mean that he’s glad to see him, “Welcome.”

He beams at Grillby, walking up to the front and taking a seat on a barstool. He drums his gloved fingers on the countertop, energized just by being in here after a long, long day chaperoning the deceased. He still has hours of maintenance to look forward to after this, long stretches of time making sure the Underworld runs smoothly, but for now he’s content to sit here and let the events of the day bleed from his shoulders.

“Sans has not been in yet,” Grillby continues, responding to Papyrus’s superfluous question from earlier, “But perhaps he’ll drop by later. Would you like to wait for him?”

His brother will not be dropping by. Lady Life has only just begun to regain herself in the realm of the Gods. Papyrus knows with a certainty borne from knowing his brother’s thoughts intimately over an era that Sans will be with her for as long as he can get away with. From the look on Grillby’s face, he’s come to a similar conclusion.

“Yes, that sounds agreeable to me.” He doesn’t need an excuse to be here, but he likes that secret smile in the other God’s eyes as he nods at Papyrus and turns away. Like they’re sharing something between the two of them. Because to any passerby of _course_ Papyrus is here waiting for his brother, what other reason would he have to stay?

“Here.” Grillby places a drink down in front of him, condensation all along the outside of the glass; a milkshake.

Papyrus takes it in one hand and brings the straw up to his mouth. “Thank you.”

It should be the punchline of a joke, him being here— (Death and an alcoholic walk into a bar. The bartender gives the alcoholic a strange look and says, “When you said you were looking forward to ‘a little death’, this wasn’t quite what I thought you had in mind.”)—but jokes involving Death are more in his brother’s dark vein of humour than his own.

The reality is much more pleasant; the soft chatter of the bar’s patrons in the background and the cool drink in his hand while warmth and satisfaction radiate through his bones. The world feels calmer here, neutral ground in a haze of conflict and dissention. Papyrus wants the best for everyone—humans and Gods and every creature in between—but times are tough and so these little moments of respite are all to be cherished.

The heat of Grillby’s hand envelopes his own still on the counter and Papyrus starts. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get distracted I—”

Grillby waves him off, drawing his hand back and gesturing once in the air before a small box appears in his hand. “For you.”

“Me?” Papyrus takes the offered object from him with spark of confusion. The box is plain and unremarkable but as Papyrus looks up questioningly at the God, he only urges him to open it. Papyrus does so, pulling open the flaps till the item inside is visible. “I-I mean, there’s no doubt that I am indeed the best person to direct gifts towards but— _oh_.”

It’s a brooch. It’s about the size of his longest phalanx, resting neatly in his palm as he uncovers it fully. It’s shaped in the image of a cartoon bone, white marble held in gold with delicate filigree over the top of it. Just holding the pin in his hand, Papyrus can feel warmth blanketing his soul in a rush of strong magic. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you might use it to fasten your cape in place,” Grillby suggests, gesturing to the red scarf around Papyrus’s neck and, for an instant, his outfit flashes back to what he’s really wearing, armour and all. His cape hangs loosely, the hood pulled back and the fabric gliding smoothly over the steel. When Grillby pulls his hand away and replaces it on top of Papyrus’s, the illusion settles back into place. “I hear there’s a lot of balancing you have to do, now that the Queen has returned. You’re going to be busy.”

Papyrus thinks of all the corrupted souls and all the reapings that remain even as the list grows longer day by day. “Nyeh heh, it’s nothing I cannot handle!”

“While I’m sure that’s true,” Grillby starts, his voice rumbling and full of mirth, “I fear that this means we’ll scarcely have time for moments like these any longer.”

The sincere words bring a hot heat to Papyrus’s face and he struggles not to pull his hand back from underneath Grillby’s in order to cover his face. Instead, he fidgets in his seat, laughing nervously and taking another sip from his drink. “I understand that my presence will be missed but fear not! I will make swift work of all remaining tasks!”

Grillby nods. “I do not doubt it. But, until then, please keep that brooch with you. I’d sleep better knowing you had a piece of my magic to ease your troubles. Plus, it…” The God pauses and seems to consider something for a moment, searching Papyrus’s face. Whatever he finds must convince him, because he goes from holding Papyrus’s hand to bringing up to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss against the back of it. “… it would also serve as a reminder that, if you want it, you will always have a home here.”

If the hot flush to his face hadn’t been obvious before it certainly is now, and Papyrus pulls his hands back, nearly knocking over his forgotten milkshake glass on the way. His holds a palm up to his face, trying to hide his awkward, unsteady smile from view. Grillby just watches him, faintly amused but still incredibly fond. It’s too much.

“Of course!” He laughs, trying to keep his voice firm, but unable to make eye contact, “I-I… I would never let a gift as lovely as this go unappreciated!”

Papyrus snatches the brooch up from the box and gets up out of his seat in one motion.

Grillby leans against the counter. “Leaving?”

“Yes.” Papyrus is already turning away, throwing a wave over his shoulder and pulling at his scarf to cover up his blushing cheekbones. “There are a few more places I should probably check for my brother. Just in case.”

He can no longer see the other God’s face, but as he walks towards the exit, Grillby’s voice sounds like he’s smiling. “Come back soon.”

Papyrus stops, one hand on the doorframe and the other on the knob. He looks back over his shoulder and sees the illusion drop—no bar, no vest, no glasses. Grillby leans against a smooth marble table, a beautiful hearth roaring behind him and silken robes flowing over him like water. His soul stutters. “I will.”

He rushes out, slamming the door shut behind him. As he does so, the workings of the temple fall away and his clothing rearranges itself back into his usual garb; black skirts and steel armour. Papyrus takes a moment to collect himself before looking down at the brooch in his hands. The bone-shaped ornament glimmers in the light, magic pulsing with every second that passes.

He affixes over the left side of his cape, just above his floating soul. Immediately, a surge of warmth runs through him, reassuring and calm. Papyrus smiles.

He’ll have to be sure to return tomorrow.

After all, Sans might need to be picked up.

**Author's Note:**

> Sesuuuuu, I've never written Papby before so this was an Experience. ;w; I hope this is to your tastes bab!!!!!!! Thank you for always being a sweetheart <333 //kissu


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